


Plaude En Pluie

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Rain, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: Over time, Peter is being taught what great responsibility comes with being a modern superhero. On the one hand, he can do marvels - but sometimes the smallest of niggles have to be ironed out. And now Claude has to explain what happens when invisible folk get caught in rainstorms - it isn't really ideal, is it? Set during Season One.





	Plaude En Pluie

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2008 to Livejournal.

As so often is the case, he wasn't quite aware of when it first started spotting with rain but, when the precipitation began to pelt down in pails, he then took in what fate awaited them. "It's raining - run for cover!" Claude screamed across the city. He heard cries of "What?" "Why?" and "Where" from behind him - well, he would tell him _exactly_ his reasons for panicking:

"Don't you _understand_ ," he talked so quickly he was barely comprehensible, "We're only invisible to the naked eye - as you know, we can bump _into_ things, so what makes you think they won't see the water going _around_ us? People may _suck_ , my friend, but they aren't all necessarily _thick_." So Peter shielded himself from the onslaught with his jersey hood, tying the toggles together so it wrinkled around his head. The New York Mets probably hadn't intended for their merchandise to be worn so, let me see - _fashionably_. It wasn't a great look, nor did it serve as suitable protection. A poncho it clearly _wasn't_. And as a 'lil slugger' who hadn't played baseball in a good long while, his exhaustion _soon_ showed.

"But you're Claude _Rains_ ," he croaked, bewildered.

"That's not _me_ ; it's an actor who played the Invisible Man in a 1930s movie," the mentor explained, "A little before your years, I should wager." Yanking his wrist almost clean off, he dragged Peter through the torrential downpour of the town, the spray on their heels coating all manner of beings who got in their way. They passed alleys and shop entrances which already served a dual-purpose as homes for the homeless and, not wanting to _encroach_ , they just kept on running. Eventually they spied an empty doorway on main street, in _full_ view of the salesmen and hotdog vendors. But Claude promised Peter they wouldn't notice.

"As soon as I find somewhere to stand, I have to stay there until the rain stops - it's one of the drawbacks. And you thought that powers gave you _everything_ ," Claude gasped, hurriedly, as he held well back from the open air. He demonstrated, catching a few drops, allowing the smallest fraction of his arm to see the light of day. They did indeed fall into his palm, and ran along his puffed-up, scruffy sleeve, "See?" Even doing _this_ brought mayhem amongst the public, the many people leaping into the road in surprise of the mysterious, floating water. Why the hell would _anybody_ risk a jaywalking charge for that? It was _nothing_ \- it could have been caused by a draught.

Memories of the 'believe it or not' style tourist traps he'd visited on vacation brought a wide smile to Peter's face. He was always puzzled as to how they _did_ it. And he doubted they had their very own invisible man, though who could tell. Maybe invisible men needed 9-to-5 jobs too. But where people _feared_ and _flocked_ to the silliest of miracles, he had to admit that his elder was right. No training for them until this was _over._

"So now what to we do?" Petrelli sighed, shaking the drops from his trouser-legs.

"You can go home," came the answer, "Wait for a gap in human traffic and reappear, I won't mind." But of course he surely _would_. Claude sneezed like a water-fowl, with a quack. If anything, he'd been out of his duckpond for _too_ long - he wasn't used to these kind of conditions and now he was _soaked_ through. He looked kind-of sweet though, the boy thought, trying not to stare. After all, Rains was the one person here who could actually _see_ him staring. And _what_ , so now he found himself _caring_ for this crude, unfeeling creep, who let him jump from a thirty-storey building and almost die without a second thought? His nursing instinct was clearly getting the better of him.

"No way," he declined, "Besides - look at your clothes... How are you going to dry off?" A shake of the head said it was for Claude to _know_ and for Peter to _find out._ Or, more precisely, Claude just _didn't_ know. "Hang on," with that, Peter dashed out, splashed onto the sidewalk during a break (the phone-booth user had her back turned and the fryer was too busy cooking his furters) and reverted to his original self. He dropped a quarter into the coin slot and took yesterday's Wall Street Journal from the nearby newspaper box, before hopping up to the foyer once again.  
  
Having no interest in stocks and shares, he wanted it for absorption value alone. He beckoned his friend to bend over and ruffled his soggy hair between the pages to take the edge off. Wringing out what moisture was left, his fingers threaded through his straggly beard also, leaving the other man slightly startled. "Uh, thanks kid," he coughed, as if he was developing cold symptoms.

"No problem," Peter smirked, so pleased with himself that he leaned against the slightly open door, making the bell ring inside. He received a glare and quickly moved away. He hadn't wished to alarm the shopkeeper. Thankfully it was so windy that the man didn't investigate further. But these abilities were _harder_ to manage than Peter could ever have _initially_ imagined. Claude, or _whatever_ he was called - he realised that he hadn't yet _asked_ \- had _already_ tried to teach him. "What _is_ your real name then?" the empath enquired at last.

"That..." he began, "is to be a lesson for another time..." Tired, the Petrelli brother rested a head on Claude's shoulder for the many hours that were to come - but never left him. And the general community couldn't have suspected a jot about the two men. As far as they were concerned, there was _no_ disturbance to the outside world and any of those who inhabited it. Except for a group of pigeons clustered around a certain _area_ , pecking at the curb. And they were probably eating bread crusts.


End file.
